I Know The Tide
by Oxygenhelpsyouwrite
Summary: Sam is left destroyed after being involved in a fatal car crash. As Dean tries to find out the truth of what happened, Sam starts to fight an internal battle of depression and guilt. Hurt&Suicidal/Sam Protective&Worried/Dean not a death!fic
1. I Became Insane

**Hi!**

 **Welcome to my new story. If anyone's waiting on the next chapter of 'If You Can Dream This', it should be out soon, I'm just having a bit of a writers block with it, and thought I'd write about a story that came to me in my dreams. (Sam wasn't the main character, it was me btw.)**

 **hope you like!**

 **-Lily**

* * *

Sam's eyes slowly opened.

There was an immense pain in his leg and the back of his head.

A car alarm disturbed the dark and silent night.

The front windshield of the impala was shattered.

The door was bent inwards.

There was a crumpled car next to the impala.

He could see outlines of still people in it.

He numbly creaked open the impala door.

He fell out, landing on broken glass.

He cried out as he felt the glass shards enter his hands.

He didn't look at the bloody mess which was his leg.

He looked up at the car.

He took a deep shaky breath.

He started to crawl towards the car, dragging his numb leg across the glass. He didn't have enough time to worry about the fact that the glass didn't hurt his leg at all.

He grunted with each pull.

He got to the car.

He lent up to the door handle and pulled it open.

A middle aged woman fell limply out of the car.

He froze.

"Oh god,"

He put a shaking finger on the lady's neck.

"Oh shit,"

No pulse.

Sam cried out and slammed a fist against a shard of broken glass.

He pulled himself up so he was vertical next to the car, clamping a hand over his mouth as not to scream from the pressure he was putting on his leg.

In the car, a man lay in the passenger seat, covered in blood. He was still.

And then two teenagers in the back seat. Still.

Sam fell numbly back onto the ground.

He stared with wide eyes at the wreckage.

He turned around and was sick.

He started to cry.

He needed to call an ambulance.

He grabbed the phone from inside his coat pocket.

Sam numbly called 911.

He gave the information they asked for, then hung up.

He lay on the ground.

He started to cry.

He started to sob.

* * *

Dean sat in bed, fiddling with his quilt, trying not to worry.

Sam had promised he'd be back by midnight. It was now 6:30 in the morning, and the orange light rays of the sunrise shone through the gap in the curtains.

His stomach was doing summersaults as he tried to keep his worries under control. It was nothing. Probably nothing.

He was just starting to feel better, when his phone started to buzz on the oak bedside table next to him. He stared at it, unsure of how felt about picking it up. He got up on uneasy legs and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?" He felt his stomach drop.

"Yeah, yeah it is," terror started to creep up his spine.

"I'm sorry to have to inform you of this but your brother was involved in a car accident," Everything stopped. His breath caught in his throat.

"He is alive, but sustained quite a few injuries. He is currently being held at the moondown hospital." Dean sighed and closed his eyes in relief. Thank god.

He quickly reminded himself that Sam was still injured, and Dean had no way of knowing how serious it was. Once again, the feeling of butterflies flying and bumping around in his stomach returned.

He picked up his keys and ran out of the door, slamming it behind him.

* * *

Doctor Mackey wrapped his hands around his neck.

"Yes I know we don't know what actually happened, or who caused it, or why Sam's alive and the family's not. But the thing I don't understand is that right now, he's undergoing surgery and the police are still here, lingering about, waiting for Sam to wake up so they can start asking questions straight away. We don't even know if this is a court case yet and they're still swarming our hospital! _Bloody parasites!_

Doctor Westbay nodded and put her head in her hands.

"This whole thing's just a big mess, Alan." She whipped out her pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

She was sitting on the table, near the back door of the hospital, where Emily Westbay came to smoke. Alan was standing close by.

Her colleagues had tried to persuade her to stop smoking, but Emily enjoyed the dark irony in her habit too much.

Her short black bob accentuated her features, and she watched Alan with a careful heavily made up eye.

She brought the cigarette back to her lightly painted lips and took a deep breath in.

Alan sat down, heavily, onto the small plastic table.

Emily exhaled and the smoke drifted from her mouth.

"All we can do is wait and see what happens to the boy. And for his sake, I hope he didn't cause the accident."

* * *

Dean sat on the edge of his seat in the hospitals A&E waiting room, one of his legs shaking up and down. He had arrived at the hospital less than an hour ago, and was told that his brother was in surgery for the injuries that Sam had obtained in the crash.

He'd also learnt that the four people in the other car involved had died. Dean prayed that it wasn't Sam's fault. He knew that Sam would never forgive himself for it.

The few people in the hospital were all yawning and checking their watches, some of their glances lingering on Deans widened and worried eyes, and the fact that he just wouldn't stop shaking.

The atmosphere in hospitals had always been one that had bewildered Dean. Some people were having the first day of their life, or the last. Some people might be having the best or worst day of their lives.

A doctor came through the glass paned door and looked around the waiting room. Deans eyes widened.

"Dean? Dean Winchester?"

Dean nodded and pushed himself up on shaking legs, worrying as to whether or not they would collapse before he could get to the doctor.

The doctors grim expression made his heart drop.

"Your brother sustained an injury to his head, causing a concussion, but it will heal. He also had multiple laceration wounds from broken glass. His arm was fractured at the joint."

The doctor caught himself as he noticed Deans rapidly paling face. "Do you want to sit down?" Dean nodded, his eyes tearing up.

"The most serious injury was the one to his right leg. It was mangled in the car crash. It broke in various places and a bone broke through his 'll need to do another operation to insert a steel rod in his bone, so the bone will heal properly. To ensure the best recovery, we would like him to put no pressure on his leg, and will be issuing him a wheelchair, as to speed the recovery process. He will also be assigned a physiotherapist."

The air caught in Deans throat, but he felt some relief. Sam would be ok.

"But…The police will be wanting to see him soon. I told them they could go in in 20 minutes. Until then, you can be with your brother."

Crap.

It's ok.

Sam wouldn't have killed 4 people.

He wouldn't.

Dean nodded and the doctor pointed towards where Sam's room in ICU was and gave Dean the directions. Dean jogged on shaking legs to Sam's room.

He came to the door. 712. He took a steady breath in, and pushed the door open. Sam was sat upright in bed, looking miserable and so immensely sad.

He was covered in stitches and bandages. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, and his arm was in plaster. His leg was covered by the small and thin blue knit bedspread.

Sam met Deans eyes, and Dean, overwhelmed by the guilt and depression he saw in Sam's eyes, stumbled to the chair next to Sam's bed.

Sam ducked his head down, so his face was completely covered by his mop of hair. Dean didn't miss the tear hitting the white sheets though.

"Sam?"

"Dean I-," Sam's voice shook and it was small and guilt ridden.

"I killed them Dean." Sam looked up at Dean, the tears flowing freely from Sam's eyes.

"I killed them."

* * *

 **Love me a cliffie... -Lily**


	2. Tomb By The Sounding Sea

**Hoi guys!**

 **I've got a science test tomorrow, and have wisely decided that instead of revising I'm going to finish this chapter and post it. Oh well. I'll just copy from the clever guy next to me.**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 _ **DISCLAIMER: the last section is written is Sam's POV, and isn't meant to romanticise mental illness or depression in any shape or form. It is a mental illness, and deserves to be treated that way, but with respect and understanding. N**_ _ **ot making it look artsy. I hope you can understand that it is sometimes difficult to write from the POV of a depressed person and not offend anyone, but I did some research and I hope that I treated the subject respectfully.**_

 **-Lily**

* * *

Deans mouth fell wide open.

"What?"

"What," Deans voice felt unfamiliar and far away from himself.

Tears ran furiously from Sam's eyes, biting his bottom lip as he tried not to make any noise.

"I'm sorry Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam's voice shook and broke and he let out a small sob at the end of the litany of apologies that fell on deaf ears.

"No,"

 _No_!" Dean shook his head, unable to accept what had happened.

"No, that's bullshit Sam. Please tell me it's bullshit… Please," Dean had collapsed back into his chair, and his eyes were wide and shining with unshod tears.

"I can't Dean." Sam looked Dean in the eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

Silence.

They were along with Deans heavy breathing and Sam's hitched crying.

And all of a sudden Deans chair hit the wall.

" **NOOO**!" Dean screamed. He screamed for the lives of the people his brother had taken. He screamed for what was going to happen to Sam. He screamed for his brother, for the fact that Sam would never, willingly hurt a soul.

Sam flinched and swallowed, his eyes locked onto his fingers resting on the bedsheets.

Dean cast a half angry, half distressed glance at his brother before looking away. Sam heard Dean counting to ten under his breath.

Agonising silence filled the atmosphere.

And all of a sudden, his brother was back and Dean turned to face Sam.

"Tell me what happened."

Sam frowned and creased his eyebrows before nodding.

They weren't brothers anymore. Dean was treating this as if it were a case, and Sam was the monster at the end of the episode.

"Um…" Sam sniffed and wiped a hand against the moisture on his cheeks. "I was driving home, and I glanced down at my phone. When I looked back up, me and the," Sam's voice caught in his throat. "The… The other car were on the same lane. And I tried to swerve away but it was too….. Too fucking late."

Dean frowned. Something wasn't right.

"Were you on the wrong lane Sam? Or was it the other car that had swerved?" Deans voice was low and quick and there was a flicker of hope in his eyes.

"I..I…I can't remember…"

"No, this is important Sam. This means that you might not have done it. You have to, or otherwise-" Dean caught himself and stopped as someone knocked quietly on the door.

They both looked up at a young woman as she entered the room and smiled.

"The police will be in soon, ok?" The young woman was pretty, and wore a doctors lab coat.

Sam nodded, and turned away.

The young woman gave Dean a sympathetic look before exiting the room, the door swinging quietly to a close.

Dean spun around and looked Sam in the eyes.

"You have to tell them it wasn't you Sam. You have to." Deans voice was pressed and urgent.

"Dean I can't, I don't even know-"

A policeman in full uniform came through the door. He had a full beard and a scar on his left cheek. He was stocky and short, kind of like a dwarf.

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave the room for the questioning, please."

Dean looked Sam in the eye, giving him one last beg, before nodding and walking slowly out of the hospital room. The door swung shut behind him and he didn't look back.

* * *

It had been 30 minutes since Dean had sat down on one of the waiting room benches, and had been waiting in excruciating suspense, when finally, Emily had walked through the swinging glass doors, to give him the news.

She felt for the poor boys. She could see they had some kind of connection she'd never really seen before, and she saw such good intentions in both boys.

Especially in Sam though, and it deeply saddened her that the young boy was caught up in such a terrible situation.

Dean, the eldest brother, had immediately stood when he'd seen her, and a wide eyed with anticipation face greeted her as she approached the eldest.

"So?" The poor brother was so eager to learn his brothers fate.

Emily shook her head.

"Sam said that he couldn't remember what had happened. He's going to court on the fourteenth. I'm sorry."

Dean took a sharp breath and cast his eyes downwards, a tear falling from his eyes and splashing against the cold hospital floor.

"Oh."

He looked up again and nodded a thank you, biting his lip.

Emily stared after the eldest as he strode with slumped shoulders, as if to symbolise his defeat, towards Sam's room.

* * *

Dean stared through the small square pane of glass at his brother, who had his shaking back to Dean.

Dean couldn't bare thinking about Sam in court. Sam being told he was guilty. Sam being chucked in prison. What was going to happen to him?

The thought of it scared the living shit out of Dean. How had everything gone so wrong? Sammy was hurt, physically and mentally, and Dean felt so lost to help him.

Dean turned around and slammed his back against the door. He slid slowly to the ground, and came to a halt, head in hands.

* * *

The world was flat and broken to Sam. Everything felt surprisingly numb, and there were times where he'd just sit, existing, not thinking for hours.

Each sip of a searing hot drink couldn't do anything to make him feel. Dean would stay with him and they'd chat, but it was all empty. Dean didn't care for him.

After what Sam had done, Dean certainly was entitled to hate Sam. Sam did.

He'd go to physiotherapy every day, and he'd 'try', but it didn't matter.

Not really. The birds that sang overhead, their song one Sam used to have comfort in, now annoyed him immensely as Dean pushed him through the hospital parking lot in his new wheelchair that the condescending nurse had told him how exciting each component of it was.

Yeah. Of course it was.

Sam didn't know why Dean was even pretending to act like he cared for Sam. He still fed Sam, told him about hunts and demon possessions, and discussed the news.

It all seemed so trivial and fake.

And then there was the deepening pit of self hate and guilt that kept burrowing itself deeper and deeper, growing faster and faster, like a tumour because of what he'd done.

He had killed four people.

Four.

Four.

1.

2.

3.

4.

Each with their own brains and thoughts and lives, and _he'd_ taken that away from them.

Dean must be disgusted at the thought of Sam.

Sam certainly was, and it was clear in his mind that everyone who knew what had happened were disgusted too.

Sam couldn't even begin to describe the emotional pain that he went through, 24/7, because of what he'd done.

But it wasn't enough. He deserved more. So much more.

He deserved to be punished.


	3. Sleep, Those Little Slices Of Death

**Hi guys!**

 **In this chapter (which apparently took a week to write) I really wanted to express some raw emotions from Sam and Dean, and also the struggle that Sam's going through because of the car crash.**

 **It's my birthday soon, and I'm about to shit myself with excitement…..help..**

 **If I describe depression *spoiler alert* in any way that anyone thinks is inaccurate, or offensive, please just leave a review, or feel free to PM me. I would also really appreciate that if you do think I could improve my perspective of Sam's depression, you could give me some pointers to how.**

 **Lily**

* * *

The silence was agonising for Dean. Each passing second the tension grew and grew, but never erupted.

The court case was in four days and Dean needed Sam to stop moping about and realise that he hadn't done anything wrong.

He needed Sam to tell the judge it wasn't him. But Sam wasn't making any attempts to look for another possibility, and Dean was afraid that Sam was slipping into depression.

In fact, it was obvious, all signs pointed to that diagnosis. Dean could only hope that things got better for Sam from here on out.

* * *

The tension grew and grew, like a tumour as they sat in silence in their apartment, Sam staring out of a window.

Dean stared at his brother, who was seemingly unaware of it. Dean needed to say something. He started to fidget in his seat as he considered the outcome of the situation if he did say something, and if he didn't.

He should say something.

Now. Dean willed himself.

Say it!

"Sam, you've got to stop this, man."

Sam spun around and looked Dean in the eyes.

"Dean I can't. You don't understand."

"But please, there's more of a chance that it wasn't your fault Sammy."

"Why?" Sam gave Dean a quizzical look.

"Please tell me Dean, why do you think that?"

"Sam. Please. You weren't drunk, you glanced down, glanced, at your phone and then it crashed. There was no way you could of lost control of the impala so quickly. Now I may be wrong, but I think it's pretty goddamn clear that it wasn't your fault." Sam's eyes widened with anger.

" **IT IS MY FUCKING FAULT**! But you're just too blind to see that because you're in a world of your own where I can never ever do anything wrong! "

" **NO! I THINK I CAN SEE WHATS HAPPENING, AND IT'S YOU MAKING EVERYTHING ABOUT YOURSELF. GET OVER YOURSELF! ITS SO. GODDAMN. BORING!"**

Dean roared into Sam's face, only just realising what he'd said, but it was too late.

Sam's face morphed from a flash of hurt, to guarded. He'd blocked himself off from Dean. He took a couple of steps away from Dean.

"Sam I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"Get out."

"Sam please-"

"Just pLEASE **GET THE FUCK OUT!"** Sam roared and Dean paused, before nodding, grabbing his coat and leaving, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

Sam stood, frozen, panting heavily in complete silence as the clock ticked along. The massive crater in his heart was growing at an alarming rate, and with each passing second, the world became crueler and darker, and he grew number.

All happiness in the world started to fade away.

Dean hated him.

Dean was repulsed by him.

He'd killed 4 people.

4.

Sam fell to a chair, his hands falling limply to his side.

He breathed out.

 _Cold_.

He looked at his fingernails.

 _Numb_.

The clock ticked.

 _Cold_.

He stared out of the window.

 _Numb_.

A bird chirped.

 _Cold_.

It flew away.

 _Numb_.

Stare.

 _Cold_.

 _Numb_.

 _Cold_.

 _Numb_.

 _Cold_.

He looked at his fingernails.

 _Monster_.

He looked at his palm.

 _Freak_.

He looked at his skin.

 _Monster_.

How it should be feel. How it should tingle as he dug his nails into it.

 _Freak_.

Plumbing creaked around him.

 _Monster_.

He flinched.

Freak.

 _Numb_.

No feeling.

 _Monster_.

 _Freak_.

 _Numb_.

 _Cold_.

 _Freak_.

 _Monster_.

 _Numb_.

 _Cold_.

 _Numb._

 ** _MURDERER_**!

Sam got up.

 _No_.

He rushed to the bathroom.

 _He hated this._

Deans Razor.

 _He hated living_.

He Turned on the shower.

 _Murderer_.

 _Murderer_.

Your brother hates you.

 _Murderer_.

 _Murderer_.

 _Murderer_

He needed pain.

 _Feeling_.

But feeling disappears.

 _Empty_.

 _No feeling._

Sam stood in silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Sam felt _numb_ and _useless_.

 _Numb_.

There was no use to him being alive.

 _Useless_.

His brother didn't need him.

 _Numb_.

 _Murderer_.

He grabbed his switch blade.

 _Monster_.

He turned on the shower.

 _Useless_.

He held the blade to his skin again.

 _Pointless_.

He was going to do it.

 _Worthless_.

He could do it.

 _Heartless_.

He held the blade to his skin.

 _Murderer_.

He held the blade to his skin.

 _Freak_.

He held the blade to his skin.

 _Monster_.

He held the blade to his skin.

 _Numb_.

He held the blade to his skin.

 ** _Cold_**

He held the blade to his skin.

 ** _DEAN_**

Sam let out a sob and dropped the razor to the ground, cluttering noisily.

Hefell to the bath floor sobbing and screaming his pain. He howled and slammed a fist against the cold slippery surface.

He moaned and sobbed and screamed his pain.

He curled into the foetal position and tucked his head between his knees, moaning and whining as he longed for his brothers arms to wrap around him and tell Sam that everything would be ok.

* * *

Dean pushed the luminous and peeling green wooden door to their motel room open and tiptoed in; the sound of the shower running surrounding him.

He had kind of been hoping that he could've apologised to Sam immediately for being such a complete asshole to him, but the upside was that now he had more time to rehearse his apology speech.

The downside being that Dean was pretty sure an apology at this point was useless and would fall on deaf ears.

What he had said was unforgivable, and whatever Sam was going through, or whatever Sam was telling himself, and undoubtedly, dean must've made things 10 times worse for Sam.

Dean hated himself for that.

Dean collapsed into a shitty and broken plastic chair and was about to pick up the playboy when he heard a noise coming from the bathroom.

A shaking breath. Or was it a cry?

Dean jumped up and edged cautiously towards the bathroom door, his right hand moving up to rest on the wooden door frame as he came in contact with it.

He drew his hand back and rapped his knuckles on the door.

The noise stopped.

" _Sam_?"

It almost felt like Sam was holding his breath.

" _Sammy_?"

No answer.

" _Sam_!"

Silence.

" _Sammy please answer me,"_

And that's when Sam lost it. He started to sob and Dean felt an aching flame spread throughout his heart.

He twisted the knob and strode into the bathroom, stopping when he saw his brothers curled up frame, shaking in the bathtub.

"Oh Sammy,"

He ran towards his little bro, and took a sharp breathe in when he saw the razor, discarded and laying like an open wound, like the elephant in the room, on the grimy white bathtub floor.

" _Fuck_ ,"

Sam had been going to commit suicide.

And it was Deans fault.

This was bad.

So, so, so, so bad.

Sam hadn't shown any signs of responding to Dean, or even noticing that he was there; he just carried on sobbing and screaming occasionally.

Dean lent down and rested on his knees on the cheap plastic tiling of the bathroom floor.

He pulled Sam from his position on the floor and wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, pulling him into the warmest, tightest hug he could manage.

He comfortingly started to rub Sam's back, up and down, up and down, like Dean used to do when Sammy was 2 and he would've cried himself dry, (usually because of Dean going to school).

And Dean would crawl into bed with Sammy, Sam's breaths hitching in his throat, and Dean would shush him to sleep, the repeated motion on his back lulling Sam asleep, safe in his brothers arms.

This situation was not too dissimilar.

Sam collapsed into Deans strong embrace, his shaking breaths and tear soaked face leaning against Deans warm shoulder, the motion of Deans fingers on his back comforting him for some reason.

It felt real.

It felt like something.

Something that wasn't nothing.

Sam's eyes fluttered shut;

He was awake at last.


	4. In the Midst Of Life We Are In Death

**Yo :)**

 **well, that was a long break.**

 **Sorry about that.**

 **In return, I've given you one of my longest chapters ever!1! And although it's only about 2,500 words, it's a lot for me.**

 **I'm on summer holiday, or as you Americans would call it vacation, and I go back in 8 days and I might actually cry. Send help.**

 **anyway, sorry for my _long_ hiatus, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **Also, you should really check out The Smiths :)**

 **-Lily**

* * *

The sun bore down through the slanted window in Sam Winchesters hospital room as the inhabitants sat in silence, one asleep. The various machines that Sam was hooked up to, filled the awkward silence with their autonomous beeping and clicking.

Dean Winchester sat on the plastic covered chair next to Sam, with his feet resting on the hospital tables that you can wheel over the bed.

He had the news on the small and old fashioned TV and was repeatedly flipping the small remote in his hand.

Dean glanced over to his brother.

Sam was pale, with almost translucent skin, and his face was gaunt, his cheekbones especially prominent. Dark low bags under closed eyes that matched the ones under Deans'.

Sam had lost a lot of weight since- since that day were the world flipped on its head for Dean.

Everything felt wrong and cruel and he was hurt.

He didn't help his brother. He hadn't even tried. He'd only made things worse and each day the burden of knowing the repercussions of his actions dragged him further and further down.

There was nothing, past or present he would put before his brother, but Dean had fucked it all up when being there had mattered the most to his brother. He had failed the one thing he'd promised himself that he wouldn't.

Dean sighed and sat up, anxious to stop thinking. He tapped a finger on the laminate wooden chair and bounced his leg up and down incessantly.

He needed to distract himself from his thoughts. A sudden and unwanted image of what would have happened if Sam had done it, flashed into his mind, and his lungs suddenly felt very restricting and tight and he jumped up, a lump forming in his throat.

The fear making it feel like his throat was closing up, the walls threatening to choke him.

It was ok.

Sam was Alive.

He took a deep shaky breath in and out before plodding himself down on the bed.

It would all be ok.

* * *

Sam was drowning.

The dark and dirty water spewed from his mouth as he coughed and gasped, trying to keep his head above water.

He saw nothing except from an area of water so large that it stretched as far as his eyes could see, covered in a thick layer of grey mist that coated the black water.

His arms paddled uselessly, his tired fingers bringing up ripples. The current was too strong. He was going to drown. He started gasping and struggling more as his panic grew.

And then he was submerged in blackness.

His lungs ached as they filled up with more and more murky water and he gasped uselessly, subsequently filling his lungs up with more and more water.

And then he stopped.

He stopped feeling the need for more breath. He stopped feeling the need to swim up to the surface. He closed his eyes and stretched himself out in the water, the cool water refreshing his exerted body.

He felt strangely at peace as the last sliver of air in his lungs escaped from his slightly parted lips. Then there was nothing. No feeling, no breathing, no thinking.

Just floating in the black silence.

And then, Deans smiling face flashed through his mind.

No.

No.

He had to stay alive.

He had to.

For Dean.

Sam desperately tried to reach the surface, but the tide kept dragging him down.

Dean.

He started to swim closer and closer to the surface as unconsciousness crept up on him.

Dean.

And with a last shot of determination and want for Dean to be ok, he breached the surface, gasping and gulping as water came up his throat.

He started to keck and his eyes tried to adjust to the bright white light surrounding him.

He did it.

For Dean.

* * *

Dean gripped the small phone in his hand so hard, that his fingers were starting to turn white and numb.

"Dad, you asshole, pick up the fucking phone." Dean muttered under his breath. They had had to stop their search for John for obvious reasons, but Dean had left John about 50 angry and desperate messages ever since the crash had happened.

But now. Now was just the cherry on top of the cake. Sam had nearly tried to kill himself, and John couldn't even be bothered to pick up the phone. It filled him with such anger and rage that the phone shook in his hand.

The phone beeped monotonously, and it had started to really grind Deans nerves.

"Dammit!" Dean hissed under his breath and threw the phone hard against the wall, and he watched in frustration as it smashed into small fractured pieces and scattered around the room.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath.

He really needed to start to not let his feelings get the better off him. He needed that goddamn phone.

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

He was such an idiot.

"De?"

Dean spun around, his eyes wide. Sam lay on the bed, his eyes half open and his face stuck in confusion. Dean felt his heart drop. He ran forward and put his hand gently through Sam's sweaty hair.

"Hey! Hey hey hey hey," Deans wide and worried eyes bore into Sam's half asleep face.

"Whus goin on de?" Sam's voice was rough and tired.

Dean smiled and shook his head.

"Nothing, Sam. It's ok. Just go back to sleep. It's all ok."

There was also something else in Sam's eyes that scared Dean no end. A certain deadness. A hint of someone who'd just given up and wasn't willing to try to get back up. There was no shine in Sam's eye. Just a dull, dull loss of hope.

Sam nodded and smiled his usual heartbreaking smile, that could either be genuine, or a pretty good attempt at convincing Dean that everything was alright.

Sam's head fell to the pillow and his eyes immediately shut.

Dean collapsed onto the squeaky armchair and exhaled heavily.

Sam was just drifting off when he heard Dean singing a couple of bars from a song he could remember Dean singing 10 year old Sam asleep too. It soothed him immensely at the time, and it still seemed to work.

He drifted off into unconsciousness as Dean started to sing the second line.

* * *

 _Sing me to sleep_

 _Sing me to sleep_

 _I'm tired and I_

 _I want to go to bed_

 _Sing me to sleep_

 _Sing me to sleep_

 _And then leave me alone_

 _Don't try to wake me in the morning_

 _'Cause I will be gone_

 _Don't feel bad for me_

 _I want you to know_

 _Deep in the cell of my heart_

 _I will feel so glad to go_

 _Sing me to sleep_

 _Sing me to sleep_

 _I don't want to wake up_

 _On my own anymore_

 _Sing to me_

 _Sing to me_

 _I don't want to wake up_

 _On my own anymore._

 _Asleep- The Smiths_

* * *

It had been five days since Sam had been released from the hospital, and he felt very much alone. Sometimes, he'd feel ok, and he could joke and smile.

but there were moments, where heavy feelings of desperation, depression and loneliness would just creep up on him and he'd have control over the fact that he would sometimes just feel crippled by the emotions that would wash over him.

But he tried, for Dean, to put on a brave face and pretend to be alright. And for moments, even if they were few, he could even convince himself.

He had been discharged after five days of stupid, smiling psychiatrists interrogating him about things that they had no business in knowing.

He had answered the questions with the most seemingly neurotypical answers he could think of, and they'd bought right into it. They'd look him in the eye and smile in the most condescending way possible.

'Was it just a bad day?' Sam would nod along and smile back.

When they had told Dean that Sam seemed fine, there was a flicker of disbelief in Deans eye.

But Dean must've been so eager to buy into the lie, that he had either pretended to believe, or because he so wanted for Sam to be alright, that he'd just pretend to himself.

* * *

It was a warm Sunday evening and the sun was just going down. Dean was at a local bar and Sam had just gone to get somethings from the local mart down the road, and he was just walking back to the impala.

He hated the way Dean looked at him now. Like he was an imbecile and needed to be looked after, or told what to do and when to do it. The way Deans' gaze would linger on Sam and make him feel inferior and like a baby.

Cars whizzed past and he felt their piercing headlights bore into his back and cast disappearing shadows of his figure elongating and eventually fading away in an orange haze.

it was a chilly night, and sam stuck his numb fingers in his jacket pockets. The impala was just up ahead, underneath the fluorescent haze of a street lamp.

He got the keys from his pocket and slid into the coldness of the impalas' frame.

He turned on the engine.

He drove to the small motel off of route 61 and the world outside turned to concrete and cracked walls, interspersed every now and then with shocking green.

Sam did his best to ignore the cold feeling that was gnawing at his insides. His hands felt numb on the steering wheel, like they weren't really connected to him.

His entire body felt heavy. It dragged him down, kept him anchored to his seat when all he really wanted to do was get out of his shell.

The car slowed as he turned into the motel, his foot clumsy on the brake. He pulled into the parking space, hopped the kerb slightly. His stupid fingers turned off the engine.

He sat there, head down, chin to his chest, staring at his lap. He could no longer tell if he was breathing. He could no longer tell if he was anything but a slab of meat.

The car was quiet. It was a tomb. He was a slab of meat and this was his coffin. There was no sound except his heavy, heavy breathing.

He didn't feel anything.

He needed to feel anything.

He needed to be reminded that he wasn't just a slab of meat in his wooden coffin. His breathing got heavier and his hands began to curl inward. His nails begun to dig into his skin.

Not raw.

Not a slab.

It hurt. He dug his nails in deeper. It hurt more. When the pain was close enough, he took hold of it and let it drag him out, drag him up.

The closer he got to the surface, the more he could feel.

He unlocked the car and pushed it open with a deafening creak. He stumbled to the motel room and went in.

His eyes focused on Deans bed, the nearest bed, and he wandered over limblessly and collapsed down onto it. He took a deep shaky breath and lifted up his hands.

There were little red marks where his fingernails had dug into his skin. In fact, he was pretty sure there was some blood in there. His gaze fell on the demon knife sitting on the dresser in front of him.

He stared at it.

He needed to feel.

And he couldn't let dean know, not after all the pain and worry Sam had already put him through. This would be Sam's secret.

This secret that made him feel. He grabbed the knife with a sense of urgency and ran into the motel bathroom. He turned on the shower head and stepped into the bath.

His breathing grew slow as he positioned the cold knife against his skin. He pushed, deep and hard, and blood welled at the surface. He dragged the knife across his skin and watched as the blood started to well up on his arm.

It felt like something. Sam smiled as the blood dripped from his arm and turned the water a pinky colour as it slowly streamed away. He continued doing this for a good half hour without interruption.

This wasn't healthy, and Sam knew it.

But it was the only thing keeping him alive.

* * *

 **:-)**


	5. Truth Is Rarely Pure And Never Simple

**Hello people!**

 **Here's the next chapter to I know the tide. I'm ill and in bed right now, science revision for a test tommorow hanging over my head, and so of course there was nothing to do but to procrastinate by writing something for you guys. Of course.**

 **Help me.**

 **Hope you enjoy,**

 **-Lily.**

* * *

Sam dived away from the demons grip and looked up as Dean stabbed a demon with the demon knife, her mouth gaping as the light (or darkness) in her eyes went out. Dean pulled the knife out with force and her body slumped to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam hollered at Dean and Dean spun around, noting the demon that was slowly advancing on Sam. Dean ran towards him from the other side of the room.

Sam doing his best to try to distract the demon, but the demon swung his blade and Sam couldn't move out of the way in time; a long, deep cut opened up along the underside of his left arm.

Sam cried out and stumbled backwards, instinctively pressing his hand against the open wound, his face animated in pain.

And then the tip of the demon blade was visible through the demons body, and the dead vessel fell bonelessly to the floor. Dean caught his breath for a second, gazing at his dead vessel, before remembering Sam. Dean looked up at him.

"You ok?"

Sam grimaced.

"Mainly. You?"

"I killed some demons. I'm great." Dean smirked and then looked at Sam's arm, whose shirt arm had quickly changed from blue to deep red.

Dean pointed at Sam's arm.

"I'll get that stitched up at the motel."

Sam's eyes widened and he paled considerably.

"No!" Sam blurted out before clutching his bleeding arm closed to his chest.

Deans brow furrowed.

"Dude what's the problem? We do this all the time." Dean questioned Sam, looking at him suspiciously.

"No. No it's fine, I'll do it myself."

Dean shook his head and turned around, walking away from the pile of dead bodies.

"Sammy. You're a weirdo."

* * *

The journey back was filled with comfortable silences, with the occasional fussing from Dean over Sam's wound. But Sam was trying to keep the panic at bay.

He'd been cutting for 6 months now, and his arm was absolutely full of little pale lines criss crossing up and down his arm, only a few from hunting accidents.

Some fresh, some scabbed, most just collections of raised skin covering every inch of his arms.

He couldn't let dean see. He couldn't let dean see how weak he was.

Ever since the accident happened and Dean had found Sam in the bathtub, Sam would be lucky to go to the bathroom alone. Dean was so alert and wanted to know where Sam was 24/7; if he hadn't been following him everywhere, like a guard dog.

If Dean knew what Sam had been doing by himself….. He had to find a way to hide it from Dean.

Sam didn't always need it. But it was a way to stop the feeling of overwhelming numbness, or overwhelming guilt take control of him. It was a way of getting back in control of his life.

One cut at a time, things were starting to get better. By no means did Sam think that it was healthy, or even remotely therapeutic, but it was the only thing that kept him feeling human.

But his perfect facade was slowly crumbling as Dean became growingly interested and worried about Sam. Glances thrown from across the car, Sam pretending not to notice and trying to hide his agitation and anxiety.

Dean pulled into the dingy motel, the neon lights flickering and the atmosphere sleazy. He glanced down at Sam's arm.

"How's it feeling?" The Impala rumbled familiarly before Dean switched the engine off and gave his full attention to Sam.

Sam swallowed and smiled as believably as he could. He could tell almost instantly that Dean didn't buy into it.

"It's fine." Sam, clutching his arm as it throbbed and ached.

"Sure it is Sam." Dean rolled his eyes before getting out of the car, leaving Sam all by himself.

Sam closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. What was he going to do now? He couldn't let dean see his extra curricular 'activities', but it wasn't like Dean had left Sam any space to hide 'd just have to persuade Dean that he could do it by himself.

He got out of the beloved impala that shone with the stars as night approached.

Sam shivered, coldness enveloping him, his thin and torn shirt not enough to provide him any real warmth. Dean stood by their motel room door, looking at Sam expectantly, as if to say 'what are you waiting for?'.

Sam quickened his pace and flashed a meek smile at Dean. Dean unlocked the sickly green coloured door and strode inside, tired of waiting for Sam.

As soon as Deans back was turned, Sam took the moment to wince and rub his arm as it began to sting and burn intensely. He limped inside the room, his eyes settling on the bathroom door.

He closed the door behin him and strode past Dean, eyes averted, hoping Dean would let him past.

"Sam."

Sam froze and glanced at Dean, who sat on the edge of his bed staring at Sam with confusion.

"Hm?" Sam said as nonchalantly as he could.

"Your arm." Deans gaze settling on Sam's bloodstained shirt that he was holding as if his life depended on it.

"Oh. It's fine, don't worry about it. I'll stitch it up in the toilet." Sam said and carried on walking to the bathroom, his heart pounding in his ears and his breathing quickened.

Dean frowned.

"I can do it. It's fine Sam."

Sam opened the bathroom door.

"Nah. Don't worry about it."

Just as Sam thought he'd gotten away, dean spoke in a worried tone.

"Sam what's going on?"

Sam shook his head and smiled.

"Nothing. Nothing, really."

Dean got up, his tone curious and his face worried.

"Sam, let me see your arm."

Sam shook his head and took a cautionary step back as Dean proceeded to advance towards him.

"Sam, let me see your arm." Deans voice more assertive and commanding than the first time he'd asked.

Sam swallowed his growing fear and he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness hit him. He squinted as it subsided and his eyes refocused on Deans troubled face.

"No."

Dean frowned incredulously and strode forward, impervious to Sam's words.

"Stop Dean."

Dean ignored him and marched forward, grabbing Sam's arm.

"Stop,"

Dean tried to wrestle Sam's sleeve from his arm, much to Sam's dismay, who started to bat Deans hands away.

"STOP IT!" Sam roared in Deans surprised face as he reclaimed his arm and held it tight to his chest.

Dean took a step back.

"Sam what the **fuck** is going on?"

Sam shook his head and stepped back.

"No. Nothing."

"Please. Sammy."

Sam shook his head defiantly.

Dean pursed his lips and sighed.

"Ok. Whatever Sam. I'm going to bed."

Sam sighed in relief.

"Ok. That's good. That's good. Thanks."

"No problem. I need a shit though, so unless you want to see my dick.…"

Sam smiled at Deans stupid antics and started to walk to the door when he felt a strong and imposing grip on his arm. He tried to pull away, but it was too late.

Dean had pulled his sleeve up, peeling it off Sam's open wound and Dean was staring blankly, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. Sam pulled his tender arm out of Deans loosening grip.

Dean didn't make any moves to stop him. Sam stumbled back, his breathing growing steadily heavier. He stared at Deans unmoving form. He felt a wave of sickness wash over him and he frowned.

"Sam."

"Dean. Let me explain-"

"Sam." Dean turned around to look at Sam, pain filled in his eyes.

"Please Dean don't overreact-"

"DON'T OVERREACT?! are you fucking kidding me Sam?"

Sam flinched and he screwed his eyes shut as hurt coursed through his veins and attacked his heart.

" _How could you_?"

Sam snivelled and fell onto his bed, defeated.

"I'm sorry Dean."

"Could you not have just talked to me? Was I not good enough?"

Sam shook his head and opened his mouth to explain but Dean interrupted.

"I can't believe it Sam. You should've come to me. How did this happen? How long has it been going on for?"

Sam focused his eyes on his thumbs hangnail and began to pull on it.

"Since I got out of hospital."

Deans eyes widened and he threw his hands up in the air incredulously.

"Holy shit. I can't believe it. I can't."

Sam felt tears prick in his eyes, but they were soon washed away as another, heavier wave of sickness and dizziness hit him and pain coursed through his body. He felt himself pale considerably.

"How did I not notice? How did I not notice what you were doing to yourself?" Dean was mostly speaking to himself at this point, not caring to notice Sam's deteriorating form.

Dean blurred in and out of Sam's vision and Sam felt himself begin to sway.

"Dean." Sam's voice weak and feeble.

"Shut up Sam. You don't get to say anything. Not after what you did to me."

"Dean."

"Sam I told you to-"

Sam's heavy body fell bonelessly to the carpeted floor with a loud thump, his head whacking off the dressers hard edge, blood spurting out.

"Sam!"

Dean cried as he rushed towards Sam's limp form.


End file.
